Party of Two (The Wedding Date #5)(5)

It really was for the best that Max hadn’t asked her out. Sure, he could give good banter at a bar, but what in the world would she do on a date with a guy like him? She’d eventually have to ask him what he did, he’d say he was an actor, and then she’d have to ask him what he’d been in, and he’d say that one commercial and that other episode of Law & Order and she’d say, “Ohhh, that’s where I know you from!” And then he’d go off on another long list of his acting credits and bore her to tears and that would be the end of it.

Plus, she didn’t have time for men right now! Her firm was her first—really her only—priority; she had to get it all set up, keep her handful of existing clients happy, network with local lawyers and potential clients, and do everything she could to drum up new business. She actually wanted to concentrate on all that! Not some guy who charmed her at a bar after she’d had a little too much gin, but likely had nothing to his credit other than that perfect smile.

Okay, and those biceps. And those big, warm, nicely manicured hands.

Why hadn’t he just invited her up to his room? That would have been the best of both worlds. Sure, she didn’t have time to date men right now, but she had time for a few hours of stress relief. Ah well. Too late for that.

She kicked off her heels, turned on the TV to the local news, and went into the bathroom to wash her face and take out her contacts. When she came out, the reporter was saying something about the homeless problem in L.A., and she listened as she changed into her pajamas.

“Earlier today, senator Max Powell had a press conference on Skid Row that some are calling just a publicity stunt. But others are grateful to the senator for shining light on this problem.”

“It’s shameful the way we’ve treated our fellow citizens, many of whom are veterans,” a strangely familiar voice said.

Olivia looked up at the TV and promptly dropped her pajama pants on the floor.

Was that . . . ?

Could that be?

She sank down onto the edge of the bed. Yes, it was. It could be. Max in the baseball hat from the bar was not some C-list actor. He was United States senator Max Powell.

Holy shit.

She laughed out loud and picked up the phone to call her sister.

“You are never going to believe what happened to me tonight.”





Chapter Two




Max walked toward the hotel ballroom, his staffer Andy by his side. They were there for the anniversary fundraiser for a newish community center in an underserved part of L.A. He was happy to help salute this place, and plus, his speech would be a good opportunity to push his big criminal justice reform bill. He hoped that when the Senate came back after this recess, he’d be able to get some traction on it.

He took a deep breath and straightened his tie. He loved doing events like the one today—he always had. He loved the part of his job that was speeches and shaking hands and talking to people; he found people and their stories endlessly interesting. But he had to be at least twenty-five percent more for these things: louder, friendlier, more intense, with a firmer handshake. People were coming to see Senator Powell, after all—he needed to give them what they were looking for. But sometimes when he walked into these rooms, he felt he had to push his ON button.

He and the community center’s board president walked into the ballroom to a round of applause. Max sat patiently through his introduction, dropped his speech on the podium, and smiled at the crowd before he started talking.

He glanced around the room a lot as he spoke. It helped him to connect with the people there, and to see if his speech was landing well or not. If he saw people on their phones for most of the speech, he knew he had to go back and make some changes before the next time. This one was going well; there were lots of smiles and laughs all around the room. Midway through, he looked at a table to the right of the stage, and that’s when he saw her, staring straight at him, with that knowing look on her face he remembered so well.

Olivia. The woman from the hotel, three weeks ago. He’d spent the whole next day full of regret that he hadn’t at least gotten her number. He’d even gone back to the hotel bar the next night to see if she was there, but Krystal had told him Olivia had come to say good-bye and had checked out of the hotel. He’d thought he would never see her again, and here she was.

They made eye contact, and he grinned at her. She grinned back at him with that same cocky smile on her face she’d had at the bar. He really liked that smile. And once again, he felt like he’d won the lottery when it was directed at him.

The crowd laughed, which reminded him he was in the middle of a speech and he should really pay attention to what he was saying. Thank God he’d done this kind of thing enough that he could daydream about the woman in front of him when he was halfway through a speech and still keep talking and making sense. But now he needed to concentrate.

He took a sip of water, looked at the other side of the room from Olivia, and cracked a joke that got the whole ballroom laughing again. He was going to finish this speech, and then he wasn’t going to let that woman leave the room until he’d gotten to talk to her again.

To what end, though? Was he really going to ask her out? Did he really have the time and energy to try to navigate dating someone not even two years into his first (and hopefully not only) six-year Senate term?

He wasn’t sure. But he’d thought about her every day for the past three weeks. He’d gotten a second chance; he couldn’t waste it.